I wasn't supposed to fight tonight. Abel was. He'd called me when I was out in Hollywood with Elias and River, and asked a favor. It was an easy favor; it should have been no big deal. He wanted me to come down and be in his corner at his fight. I had been outside the circuit for the past few months and he trusted me. After the stuff that had gone down with me and Coker, the shit that sent me back to West Bend a few months back, he knew I'd be there in a heartbeat.
I was supposed to be in Abel’s position tonight, in his corner, supporting him. Instead, Abel was in the hospital, after being mowed down in a hit and run.
The bullshit part of it was that I knew who had done it. Hell, we all knew who was responsible. We might not know who the driver himself was, but we damn well knew who had hired him. It was Roy Coker, my ex-promoter. Everyone knew what kind of guy he was, the lengths he would go to in order to make sure his fighters won.
Or lost, depending on what bets were being run and what the odds were.
Coker had tried to get me to take a dive before, so I knew firsthand what would happen when you were in his way, when you didn’t do what you were told.
In my case, the outcome hadn’t been great.
Of course, I’d never been good at doing what I was told, either.
"Yeah, man," I said. "My head is right where it needs to be."
Trigg squatted down low and made eye contact with me, his gaze intense. "You’ve got this," he said. "Rush is a fucking beast. But you're better."
I was better, I almost said. Then I put that thought out of my head. I hadn't fought, not in a real fight anyway, since Coker sabotaged me months ago.
When I'd gotten beaten so badly I nearly died.
I wasn't in good shape when I went back to West Bend, even though by then I was out of the hospital and relatively healed, at least on the outside. My mother had assumed I was drinking, but it was just the fact that I was still recovering from the beating I'd taken. I'd told Elias I'd come back to West Bend because I'd torn my ACL - he didn't need to be involved in the clusterfuck that was my life. Especially not when there was so much stuff going on in West Bend already. I was going to take care of everything myself.
But after I'd recovered, I'd gone back to training.
The problem was that I knew enough to know that all the training in the world didn't matter if you weren't fighting. And the last fight I'd been in had been a bloodbath - mine.
So I'd had the nagging fear that I'd lost my mojo.
Then there was the small matter of the fact that the doctor had told me specifically, no more fighting. He’d warned me that another good blow to the head could kill me.
I nodded at Trigg. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m better than Rush.”
But the words rang hollow, especially to me.
I scrolled through text messages on my cell phone, maintaining a blank, disinterested expression as Coker introduced me to his prize fighter.
Coker thought he was setting up a deal. But he was the one being set up.
Coker was the mark.
"This is Rush," he said, gesturing toward the large man, clad only in shorts, a towel draped over his shoulders. Rush stood and walked toward us.
I looked the fighter up and down, only barely taking my eyes off my phone as I nodded curtly. "I see."
"He’s got dominating ground and pound skills,” Coker said. “A beast.”
I had no idea what the hell he meant. I turned to leave, displaying how unimpressed I was with Coker's fighter, and Coker followed.
Like a puppy dog, I thought.
"He's certainly good-looking," I acknowledged. "That never hurts with the female demographic."
"I've got a whole stable of fighters. Ten more just like him, all prime product," Coker said. I could hear the twinge of desperation in his voice. Coker was like an awkward teenager, trying desperately to get into the cool crowd.
For a second, I almost felt badly about what we were going to do to him. Only for a second, though. That feeling passed when I remembered exactly why we were doing this.
"Settle down, cowboy," I said, holding up my hand. "I never said anything about needing more than one fighter. You've not even begun to impress me with the one you have. Let's not put the cart before the horse, here, okay?"
Coker smiled. "Rush is going to impress you," he said. "That's for damn sure. And when he does, I'm ready to talk about a deal."
I laughed, but not for the reason he thought.
Sometimes, a con was just too easy. People think that conning someone requires a huge amount of deception or sleight of hand, but in reality, most of the time it requires very little actual trickery. You just have to pick the right mark - the greedy kind, the kind who's more than happy to break the rules. That kind of mark is all too ready to believe that you'll give him an exponential return on his investment, a once in a lifetime deal.
And the greater the return, the more willing the mark is to believe that it’s possible.
People are surprisingly willing to deceive themselves.
Everyone wants to believe in happy endings. The problem is that in the real world, they're manufactured by people like me, people who are trying to sell you something that doesn't exist.